Vernon Scannell

Makers And Creatures - Poem by Vernon Scannell

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It is a curious experienceAnd one you"re bound to know, though probablyIn other realms than that of literature,Though I speak of poems now, assumingThat you are interested, otherwise,Of course, you wouldn"t be reading this.It is strange to come across a poemIn an old magazine, perhaps, and failAt first to see that it"s your own.Sometimes you think, grateful and surprised,"That"s really not too bad", or gloomily:"Many have done as well and far, far better".Or, in despair, "My God that"s terrible.What was I thinking of to publish it".And then you start to wonder how the greatPoets felt, seeing, surprised, their poemsAs strangers, beautiful. And how do all theMakers feel to see their creatures live:The carpenter, the architect, the man whoCrochets intricate embroideriesOf steel across the sky. And how does GodFeel, looking at his poems, his creatures?The swelling inhalation of plump hills,Plumage of poplars on the pale horizon,Fishleap flashing in pools cool as silver,Great horses haunched with glossy musclesAnd birds who spray their song like apple juiceAnd the soft shock of snow. He must feel goodSurprised again by these. But what happensWhen He takes a look at Man? Does He say,"That"s really not too bad", Or does He, as I fear,Wince ruefully and mutter to Himself:"What was I thinking of publishing that one"?